Impetus
by SunnyOrange
Summary: Edward's hand now feels lukewarm within mine; he was beyond all description to my unveiled sight; chaos ruled my thoughts. Nothing would ever be the same again. •Sequel to Imperfections• Cir. 1933.
1. Impetus of Life

Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns everything recognizable in the land of Twilight. No copyright infringement is meant.

**Prelude – Impetus of Life**

"_A time is envisioned when the world was not, only a watery __chaos__ (the dark, indistinguishable sea) and a warm cosmic breath, which could give an impetus of life." __ — __Rig Veda _

.~~.

Rosalie's POV

While being raised under the tutelage of mother and having to endure the many hours of her redundant lessons, I thought those experiences maddening. There were only so many times I could learn to be poised, genteel, refined . . . _beautiful even_.

Brushing my hair, learning to hold a tea cup properly, reciting endlessly the lessons she wanted me to learn could be dreadful, but I had endured them. I had learned and prevailed as Rosalie Lillian Hale. Mother's words of my beauty surpassing all others were as ingrained in me as my love for my brothers.

There was no mistaking my vainness, my arrogance in my beauty, but they were learned and achieved.

As I grew older, the brightness of what she taught me, what she promised my beauty would obtain, started to dim. Gone were the silly ambitions of only wanting to outshine everything and everyone in contention. As mother started to withdraw her attention from my siblings and myself, I started to take more of the responsibility.

Slowly but surely, new ambitions started to take over my young heart. My love for my younger siblings grew as their dependence on me strengthened.

One night, while putting my precious Henry to bed and tucking him in tight as he preferred, his little arms had stopped me. Gently they wove around my neck, stopping me from leaving him.

"_Rosie," his sweet voice wafts over me. I still my actions, taking in his little handsome face in the weak light of the lamp. _

"_Yes, darling?" I ask, pushing away his falling blonde bangs from his drowsy eyes. _

"_Do you love me?" My heart seemingly stops at his innocent question. The hesitation in his voice (all but) breaks me. _

"_Why ask such a silly question, Henry?"He turns away from me and stares out the window. He looks too solemn to be only nine years of age. _

"_Mother doesn't seem to, sissy." Sharp tears sting my eyes suddenly, but I refuse them to fall or even cloud my eyes. I never want any doubt about my love for him to obscure his opinion. _

"_She loves you, darling," I try to valiantly argue. "She has many obligations and social functions to attend." He looks back to me, wisdom so very prominently shining in his violet irises. _

"_As do you, sissy." I nod, not knowing what else to say to assuage his fears and mother's mistreatment of us. "But you take care of us, making sure we have all we need." He stills as his eyes take in every inch of my face. _

_I love both of my brothers terribly. They are the light of my life, but Henry, _oh_ he is special. He was my first love, the first person who made me realize the potential so very deep inside me, buried behind the pomp and vainness. _

_As I take in his handsome face, I can't help but think how much he resembles me, how very handsome he will be when grown. _

"_You love me, sissy? Right?" His statement sounds more like an unsure question, and I hate his hesitance._ Perhaps I haven't shown my love for him as much as I have perceived.

"_More than you could ever fathom, Henry, darling. More than anything, my love; you and Benjamin are my life. I love you to the end and back." Weakly, the tears I try to hold at bay surface as his wobbly, little smile takes over his sleepy face. _

"_And everything in between, sissy," he finishes our little rhyme, trying to stifle an adorable yawn. He will be unconscious soon. _

"_Even then, my little darling." I quickly kiss his little pouty lips and finish tucking him in. He's already fallen asleep, as I knew he would. His young arms fall from around my neck. I can't help but stare at him. He is utter perfection_.

I knew beyond redemption (then and there, and to a certain degree before) that a greater purpose started to grow within. I was meant for more than parties, silk ball-gowns and countless flutes of champagne. I was meant to love endlessly: to love my brothers, to love my family, to love what would fervently be my future children.

I had discovered my irrefutable _grand purpose_ in life, and at the tender, impressionable age of fourteen.

From then, I took mother's lessons and tailored them to my own life, my own plans. No one knew of my ambitions. I kept them closest to my heart.

My life had been fast-pace, fulfilling my obligations to my station in society and to my last name. I was the picture of femininity, grace and well-bred attentions. My conceit knew no bounds. I kept everything centered on my most ardent wish and nothing could push me from my goals.

But isn't this the satirical thing about life: one should never tempt fate (or whatever else it may be that guides one's life – even if it be simple circumstance). One should never think along the lines of 'nothing' and 'never'. Because it would prove to be one's downfall.

The pastor of our church often taught, "_Pride goes before the Fall_," but I thought differently. Though pride was a factor, so was that Grand unseen Power which ruled life, energy and the great scheme of Mother Nature.

I didn't know if God existed or if there was some Supreme Being out there, but I believed there was a higher power, more to life then we couldn't see and even come close to fathoming.

I didn't know if I was being punished or simply tested, but I must have failed. Selfishness was nothing new to me; I wallowed in it. I wasn't blind to my many faults, but _he_ had pushed me past what I knew of myself. _Edward_ . . . had unknowingly taught me so much about my character, what I was able to endure, how truly the self-esteem I wrapped myself in had been a front.

Pride had been part of my Fall, but it wasn't the sole contributor.

The things I had long neglected in myself, the weaknesses I had tried to keep hidden in the dark, were part of my downfall. They happily contributed to my disgrace. _My brutally taken innocence_ . . .

The Fall had been long. But the pain I had endured was a drop in the bucket compared to the burning agony I had endure after Dr. Cullen's trying to save me.

"_**Too much waste**_," he has sadly proclaimed. Often as I burned endlessly, begged helplessly for my true death, he had apologized.

He explained to me what I was becoming, how my flesh was hardening, how my brutality at the hands of my affianced was being healed by his venom.

The burning he promised would subside and all would be well. I simply had to _wait_.

I was past endurance.

Nothing could ever prepare a person for such agony. To describe such pain would be akin to trying to describe the very fires of hell eating away each inch of skin. I couldn't think of any comparison, but once again, irony would prove me wrong. It was the lesson my young vampire life proved to me again and again. _Never say never_.

I soon found out that screaming didn't help; it only tore more at the lining of my throat, making me swallow blood. And it only added more to the unparalleled agony I felt. Dr. Cullen had tried to take my mind from the pain, to focus it on something more worthwhile.

"Try and remember, Miss. Rosalie," he addressed me semi-informally. But I guess once he sunk his sharp teeth into my skin and injected his supposed venom, formalities seemed terribly laughable.

"Remember your childhood, adolescent and adulthood. Cling to the happy memories, Miss. Rosalie. If not, there is a possibility of forgetting them."

It was the first blow he would deliver. I couldn't forget my previous life. I simply couldn't. The thought of not remembering Henry, Benjamin, father and _him_ were unthinkable. How could I go on? It was like asked not to breath.

I tried, _goodness, I tried_ to remember, but it was impossible. The anguish made everything else obsolete. I could feel the burning tears run down my cheeks.

And so, I continued to beg for death, continued begging for this most unimaginable sorrow to end, as I continued to only remember my atrocious attack. At least if I passed from this life there was a chance of my staying sane, somewhat whole and the memory of my little loves remaining.

And when I thought I could take no more, and my one plea had gone unfilled, the unspeakable pain begun to recede. My heart gave one last beat.

All suddenly became silent; my body though still singing from the horrific pain it had endured, didn't seem my own any longer.

Everything I had known, cherished and wished for had been taken from me in one single defiling act. My identity was in tatters, the little self-esteem which I had held onto was ripped evermore from me, the love I held for my brothers was tainted and happiness I had experienced with Edward was but a distance memory. Nothing was the same; bedlam now ruled my every fiber.

My eyes opened. Suddenly, I had to have them open. Without having to be told, I knew I hadn't really died. There wasn't some fabled white light blinding me or some sweet voice of God welcoming me home. The only thing I could take in was the magnificent jewel-toned eyes staring brightly into mine.

His hand now felt lukewarm in my own. The lovely coolness of his skin was no more. Dr. Cullen's explanations to what I had become and would now always be rang so terribly true within me.

_Edward's hand now feels lukewarm within mine_; he was beyond all description to my unveiled sight; chaos ruled my thoughts.

Nothing would ever be the same again. Unshed tears stung ruthlessly at my eyes. They refuse to now fall. _So terribly, terribly dreadful_ . . .

.

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Author's Notes: Okay, first chapter up. Though short, it is really only a prelude for what's to come. I'm not quite sure how long this story will be, but I do have an ending in mind. It will be getting there that's tough.

Okay, so what did you think about the chapter. Good, bad? Like, dislike?

_Please_, loves, I would appreciate the feedback. All reviews really help and give me the encouragement to write quicker. This chapter went under so many rewrites and that isn't an exaggeration, so reviews would really give me a mental (muse) boost. No pressure! ;)

Welcome to the Sequel!

Much love until next time.

_Posted: Thursday, 1 August 2013_


	2. Mixture of Madness

Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns everything recognizable in the land of Twilight. No copyright infringement is meant. _Note: This chapter may seem disjointed, but it is meant to be so. _

**Mixture of Madness**

"_No excellent soul is exempt from a mixture of __madness__.__" — __Aristotle _

.~~.

Rosalie's POV – Beginning of May

.

Amongst the disarray that is my mind, the newly minted inadequacies I feel and the too heightened senses bombarding my every movement are staggering. Yet, amongst the bedlam, I still can hear Dr. Cullen and _her_ (my once beloved Esme) explaining to me my situation.

Slowly, while ignoring his look of hurt, I dislodge my hand from Edward's. I cannot stand to touch him or even think his name.

There is something stifling within me: something calling me unworthy and dirty. With everything else swirling maddeningly inside of me, I cannot focus on his affections or needs. I can barely focus on the next second ticking by. The need to bathe, to cleanse every portion of my hardened skin, shouts the loudest above all else.

After allowing me the time to change my soiled clothes – Esme helping me to put on my new silky ensemble – Dr. Cullen's admonitions start.

I hadn't even realized I was still wearing soiled clothes, even as Esme was careful not to touch me while I changed. _It is all too surreal; whirling_.

But somehow . . . I take in what they (these supposed mystical creatures of the shadows) explain to me.

"_Vampire_ . . ." Carlisle voice resonates. The word is familiar, but wholly unfathomable.

"You're a vampire, Rosalie." I stare back unceasingly, unblinkingly. Things still feel terribly tumultuous in my head, and surely he must be jesting.

_Nothing_ could be as ludicrous as this. But my still smarting body says differently. And once again, I learn the lesson of (in essence) '_never say never_'.

"It is what my entire family is comprised of."

_Edward . . . Vampire . . . Not able to have children . . . and __**now **__neither will I. __Again__. Understandable to an extent . . . to me. Oh, what a blow_.

"We drink from animals, not the blood of humans. It allows us to retain a sense of normalcy among them. We've all chosen this lifestyle, as can you, my dear."

_What other choice do I have_? I had pleaded for death and it all went unanswered.

"We cannot be seen in the sunlight."

_Why_, I think, and Edward unfairly tells Carlisle so.

_How can he know what I am thinking? Is he able to do the unimaginable and see into my mind_? I am not content about this ability. My skin crawls even more so.

"Our skin has an unfavorable reaction to the sun. You see . . . we sparkle," Carlisle finishes lamely, a little uncomfortably. If human, I know he would be blushing and tugging at his collar. It all seems so entirely unfathomable.

"Our strength and speed is unmatched," the tutorial continues. We are predators. Human are our intended prey, but as mentioned before, we abstain from that particular call of our nature."

_It most likely won't be a problem for me_. The thought of blood-drinking repulses me entirely. Again, Edward looks to me as I try to ignore him, but I can see the skepticism on his ethereal visage.

"Every sense we have is enhanced. Your sight is perfect, your hearing unparalleled, your touch cold and sensitive; taste is only clinched with blood – human food is foul to us. And as for smelling; well, you have a nose still." Poor Dr. Cullen wants me to crack a smile at his levity, but even I cannot grant him that. I am too overcome. The feeling of filthiness mounts.

Sadly, he cleared his throat and looks to Esme. His true wife, I suppose. _Perhaps that wasn't one of their cultivated lies_.

"You aren't able to contact your family any longer, Rose, darling," Esme's sweet voice whispers to me. It is the most difficult piece of knowledge they have related to me (sans my continued infertility). Thus it falls to poor Esme. I think it undeserved, but don't voice it.

"To them, you have perished," she finishes delicately. _What other way is there to tell someone such horrendous news_?

"_I was dead to them" she had refused to bluntly say_.

"I cannot begin to express how truly sorry I am, darling, but please don't try to make contact with them. Our time here in Rochester is very limited, thankfully. We shall be moving within three weeks time. And if you want, you're more than welcome to come. You are our family now, Rose. Please say you'll stay on."

My silence and unnatural stillness is now broken, but the tumult in my head goes unbroken.

My life is trampled, and even the comfort of possibly seeing my family again has been destroyed. Since I am unchanging – forever trapped at this eternal age – they are never to see me again. It is all truly and utterly sad.

The newly injected venom fills my eyes once again, but refuses to fall. The tears stand, stinging my eyes as well as my stilled heart.

_And the thought of being alone_ . . . scares me senseless, enhanced senses or not. I cannot be alone. So the desire to make contact with my family versus staying with the Cullens' terribly fades out. I will heed their rules.

"I understand. And I shan't speak to them," I relent. It breaks me terribly. My voice, sounding so beautifully beguiling, can barely be heard. For even my whisper is broken; my voice unrecognizable to me.

Esme goes to reach out, to touch my cheek, but stops herself. She must sense my need in not wanting to be touched as of yet. I am feeling unclean. It is mounting.

"Most importantly, Rosalie," Carlisle continues, as if everything else he has told me already isn't been enough, "no-one outside of our family can know of our secret, our condition. We keep this secret closely guarded."

He goes on to explain about the Volturi (some self-appointed ruling body of vampires which keep the knowledge of our existence secret) and the penalty if said secret is shared.

I now understood why Edward hardly related anything to me about his life – seemingly always allowing me to talk. As much as I want to fault him and demand he still lied incessantly to me, I cannot. But it still doesn't lessen the pain I feel from his habitual omissions he kept from me. In a sense, it is still a _lie_. I am starting to despise that word, yet have to now adopt it to every aspect of my new life.

_Irony at its worst_ . . .

I finally look at the silent, third Cullen occupying the room, and give him a nod. He gives me a tremulous, tender smile, which causes things to riot within.

I quickly pull my attention from him and put it back onto the patriarch of the "family".

"I won't tell anyone," I promise and leave it at that.

There are many more questions I want to ask but keep silent. The need to get away, to be by myself for a little while is strong. This feeling of un-cleanliness is building. I can't understand the depth of it at this time, but it feels as if I would explode at any moment if not somehow clean. _I need to have water_.

Still unspoken, the questions sound in my mind:

_If this secret is so closely guarded, why mingle in society so often? Why allow your _son_ to become my friend? Why did you kiss me, Edward, when you knew there was no future for us? Why invite me over, Esme, and start a friendship which we were bound to lose? Why expose yourself at all to humans if you abstained from drinking their blood? Why even change me? If this secret was so closely guarded, __**why change me**__?_

These are all questions which bombard my mind within seconds but remain unspoken. I have to run, I have to be clean. I just have to be . . . _something_ . . . _anything_ . . .

After the obligatory speech from the sorrowful doctor, he urges me to hunt. Oh, the burn in the back of my throat is exquisitely severe, but it cannot overtake the surmounting sensation of uncleanness within. It is like an unstoppable flood, engulfing every fiber of my being, causing my trembling to intensify.

The utter need to purge my skin, to tear open every crevice of my flesh is insatiable.

Without regard to my new station in life, the raging burn of this unquenchable blood-thirst and the consequences of not immediately dealing with said thirst, I flee. I can't sustain any longer.

With surmounting pressure, I finally get control of my unfamiliar limbs and demand them to move. Like the best-oiled car possible, they obey. Precession is newly-defined as I elegantly stand up and take off at an impossible speed.

_Oh_, Dr. Cullen spoke of my new abilities, but even I couldn't imagine such speed.

The pleas from my new "family" echo shrilly in my ears, but they have no bearing on the raging madness within.

A path of destruction lays in my wake as doors are broken and floorboards crushed in my flight for alleviation, my need for limpidness. My plowing through solid wood doesn't even seem to register.

Somehow I will think of a way to make it up, but for now, all I can think of is water.

.

I can hear _him_ trailing me; I can _feel_ him shadowing me. And goodness, is it unfair.

There isn't a need for an audience. My approaching lunacy should be respected and given the discretion it requires. But somehow I instinctively know, that even if I beseech Edward to leave me be, he will discard my pleas; not for some free entertainment or malicious humiliation, but for some inane notion of responsibility.

Oh, I may not have seen Edward for a while, and our short amorous interlude may have burned out in him, but his depths of chivalry are unmatched.

_Discounting while I was burning incessantly_, my awful mind reminds me. _The awful things he said_.

I know he feels somewhat responsible for the atrocious assault on my person. _At the hands of my affianced, no less_ . . .

But I cannot fault him. My temporary reprieve from the Cullens' has nothing to do with him and everything to do with my leaking madness.

The need to cleanse myself has been overwhelming, the wanting for it all to be a cruel dream, unreached.

The stomping of my feet along the cold ground sounds almost elegant: as if each graceful leap I take is meant for some ballet dance – when in reality it is the harshest of escapes. I feel like I'm in constant juxtapose: the madness within doesn't reflect the elegance of this new façade.

Each leap I take is followed by my uninvited companion. Every running jump my new form allots is met with newness bombarding me on all sides.

The vividness my eyes behold is breath-taking. The irregularity of each new scent I take in all but crippling. The thumping of scuttling hearts I hear only enrages the blistering at the back of my throat. But even the heady call of the blood doesn't stop my progress. I have an unwavering location and the call is the loudest of all.

As I finally reach the bank, my feet do not halt. I have reached my momentary rapture.

Gloriously the water embraces me as I freefall into the crushing current. The rush of the river is magnificent – with it being Spring, and it only feeds my instant jubilation. The pressure swallows me from all sides, causing me to sigh in exquisite relief.

Whether it instinct or lunacy, I don't care – the rushing water is the most glorious thing my new skin has ever felt. I don't know if anything can ever compete with this feeling of completeness I feel being submerged, but it is immaterial.

Slowly, I close my eyes and force out the remaining oxygen from my lungs. According to Dr. Cullen, the need for air is unneeded, thus affording me total seclusion.

The thought of drowning should scare me, but purifying water saturates every inch of my lungs, every crevice of my skin, every orifice on my body. It takes it all away.

The reviving feeling inundates my entire being. Gradually, the overwhelming madness recedes, replacing it with small amounts of peace.

No longer do I feel the crushing need to rip my skin apart, to extract every organ from my body and dip it in acid.

I float away.

.

The venom seems to have done an amazing job, I am hardly recognizable, but even it has failed me. No longer do I physically bare the brutality of those fiends, but my heart and soul are still marked, still scarred. And I know, sadly, that nothing will ever take it away. I may now have unfathomable amounts of time, but nothing can erase such unwelcomed trespassing(s) on one's spirit.

So I allow the water to rush over me, to fill my entire body, to bog me down to the furthest depths attainable. It is but a small reprieve from the anguish, from the filthiness now tainting me.

But some things shall be well. Regardless of what the Cullens' have planned for me, or how much they desire for me to join their family, I shall not be long in this world. My human ambitions were squashed, but soon I shall fulfill the single wish I have for this life.

With only one thing needed before I depart, I gave a promise to not contact my family, and I shall stick to such an agreement, but nothing was ever said about possibly _seeing_ them from afar – at least once more.

I need to leave this world, knowing they will be fine, that though I am gone, they can endure. I want to see them one last time – to etch my brothers' exquisite faces into such an infallible memory. To fall from this existence with such perfection in my mind's eyes will be the ultimate beautiful release.

I stay in the river for a bit longer. Somehow, it takes the taint from me, even for a moment. And though I lack the talent of breathing underwater, I still feel a freshness enter my lungs. The river water somehow is cleansing me from the inside out. And yes, for a time – until I happily depart from this world – I will feel somewhat cleansed. My own informal baptism; how incongruous.

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Author's Notes: Sorry for the long wait, but life won't be put on hold for fanfiction. Sad.

Thanks for all the reviews/favorites. They are my balm and inspiration. Much love.

_Updated: Wednesday, 4 September 2013 _


	3. Mental Rearrangement

Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns everything recognizable in the land of Twilight. No copyright infringement is meant.

**Mental Rearrangements **

"_Emotional occasions, especially violent ones, are extremely potent in precipitating mental rearrangements. The sudden and explosive ways in which love, jealousy, guilt, fear, __remorse__, or anger can seize upon one are known to everybody. . . . And emotions that come in this explosive way seldom leave things as they found them.__"— __William James _

.~~.

Rosalie's POV – Beginning of May

.

This is my life.

My once lovely silk dress is beyond repair, my unbelievably golden hair matted and my hand stained with spilled blood and bits of fur. Skin is disgustingly curled under my fingernails.

_How could anyone seek after this life_, I can't help but to tragically ask myself. Of course it goes unanswered.

Great painful sobs break over my body as I bury my face into the dead animal slaughtered at my knees.

This wretched existence was never meant to be my life: killing something with a delicious-sounding heartbeat as it bounds past my path. The thumping of its heart was exquisitely appetizing and the wetness of the blood oozing in its veins, unquenchable. The need to drink, to sink my now impossibly sharp teeth into its closest artery was debilitating. There was nothing to be done but to drink from its broken neck, to suckle at such saccharine nectar.

And all to sustain this being I had become, to sate this burning venom in my throat.

The only conscience thought to have passed over my feral mind was: _not a human . . . not a human . . . never drink human_ . . .

When I regained some semblance of myself, and the red haze of thirst had abated some, I saw the mangled carcass clasped tightly in my hand. My fingers had even dug under the skin and into its still quivering muscles.

The image before me was terribly inhumane and beyond repulsive. The only thing I could do was tighten my grip, bow my heavy head and allow some impossibly unyielding sobs to release from my body.

.

The sting of the venom in my eyes is intense, but somehow it helps to assuage my guilt. It gives me some form of punishment I deserve for killing this animal so brutally. Flashes of my own attack sound in my head: _the tear of my dress, the crack of his hand striking my face, the gut-wrenching screams tearing the lining of my throat, the budding hope slipping lifelessly from my broken fingers_.

With the greatest of inner strength I have, I pull from such horrific thoughts and put my mind back onto the current situation.

Sadly, I cannot help but notice the burn in the back of my throat has stopped flaring. It is still there, (_oh, still there_) tempting me to hunt again – to find something even sweeter to feast on – but I ignore the viscous taunt.

Rosalie Hale – creature that I now am – is stronger than even this.

I pull in deep, fortifying breaths, trying to calm the ragged sobs coursing through me.

With each deep breath (so many new smells filling me each time I inhale), I can feel my monstrous body start to relax. My mind still feels like a never-ending Ferris wheel, but it is more manageable.

I slowly push the drained deer from my body while unclenching my fingers. Furiously I swipe my bloody fingers on the forest ground, doing my best to remove any byproduct of my "supper".

Everything about this scene is awfully repulsive, but I do realize it is the only way to somewhat quiet my chaotic mind.

Listlessly (while dragging my drained supper with me) I crawl back to the river bank and allow my body to become submerged again into the crushing flow. I let go of the carcass and watch as we become separated. The water surrounding me is like a warm, goose down blanket that I welcome so very happily. Thankfully it wipes the tears of remorse from my eyes and the surmounting dirtiness within.

I only forever now want to be quieted, to never have to experience such depravity again.

_Soon_, I comfort myself. _There is only one thing left to do. And then . . . soon_.

. .

I'm not quite sure how I am able to return to the Cullens', having lost Edward in the crush and current of the river, but somehow I make it back. Perhaps there is now a homing beacon inside me, like a carrier pigeon. Or perhaps it is my newly-minted senses leading me back to them.

As I walk out from the copse surrounding their property and into the greyness of the waning afternoon, shouts of my name reach my ears. Surely they could have whispered my name from the house and I would still have had the ability to hear. _Unnatural, it is_ . . .

Leading the pack to reach me is Edward. Seeing him running at such a speed makes me dizzy, but I shake it from me. I'm already drowning in this new existence with everything continuously bombarding me.

Each face I see is tinged with sadness, fright and guilt (more so Dr. Cullen than the others).

I stop as each Cullen reaches me, but the trembling of my limbs will not abate. _And here I thought vampires all-controlling_. _Unfounded assertion, I suppose_.

As Esme goes to reach out to me, to gather me in her loving arms, I recoil. Not out of fear, but vileness in myself. I cannot stand to have someone of her goodness touching me. Not after the atrocity I committed.

Dr. Cullen, thankfully, reins her in to his side, tenderly wrapping his arms around her waist. Tears are pooled in both of their eyes, and I wonder if the sting is as great in theirs as it is in mine.

Edward stands sentient behind his family. His clothes are torn, dirty and terribly wrinkled – as if he had been frantically searching for something lost to him. His lovely jewel-toned eyes are bright as they take in every inch of my appearance. But I don't return his look, quickly turning away.

"Rosalie, darling . . ." Esme cries grievously from her husband's loving arms. I can feel something deep inside me – the old human Rosalie perhaps? – wanting to comfort, to go to her.

As I stand still and watch the desolate scene before me, my old friend's knees finally buckle; but before she is able to hit the ground, she is caught up in the Doctor's embrace.

_How nice it must be . . . to have such love, such devotion as he shows to her_, I hear whispered bitterly in the darkest recesses of this new creature. I wince from it, wanting no part to tinge my newly cleaned innards.

"My love," I can hear murmured sadly into her ear, "now isn't the time. Shh, darling. Please calm yourself."

I want to enquire about what not being "the time" but still remain silent. My hands and limbs continue to shake heedlessly. My eyes long to take in Edward, to fall onto his glorious face, but even that I cannot do. Looking to him would tumble me as helplessly as Esme.

"So sorry, Rosalie," Esme's pleas ring out into the late afternoon, pulling me from such darkness. "So terribly sorry."

More painful venomous tears gather in the corners of my eyes. My quavering hand wipes at them, momentarily stinging as they recede.

As my hand drops, I lift my head and take in the beguiling mournful couple before me. If Da Vinci were present even he couldn't capture the beautiful anguish of this couple.

"Esme," I finally hear myself speak. The gossamer spider web my mind resembles hadn't even sought my permission to speak.

And Dr. Cullen said my senses were enhanced. _Poppycock_. Everything is awfully confusing. I want to become submerged forever in my watery haven again.

Her weak pleas cut off as she stares at me through a venom prism.

"To what are you apologizing f-for?" I ask quietly. _What is the cause of your __great__ anguish_? The new sound of my voice still throws me off. The newness of it.

"I t-thought we had lost you," she moans pitifully. "I can't bear to lose you again, darling. To have you suffer alone . . . lost." Her husband sinks down beside her, clutching her tightly to his amazingly strong frame.

_What would such safety feel like_? I can't help think. _You once knew . . . torn away . . . when human . . . He stands just beyond the fallen couple_ . . .

I refuse to follow the train of my thoughts and look to Edward. I cannot fathom thinking about him with everything else already pushing so heavily on me.

My feet beg for me to take flight again, but the will of my heart demands I stay. Who am I to argue?

"Calm yourself, my love, please," Dr. Cullen croons softly to her, his hands lovingly caressing her dried face and silky hair. It is heartrending to watch them.

After what seems like its own eternity, her sobs soften. With the tenderest of kisses, Dr. Cullen's lips drop to those of his wife, confessing how much he loves and adores her. The trembling becomes even more violent inside me.

" . . . Rosalie . . ." It's as if I hear my name spoken from a great distance.

Slowly I will my attention to the present and take in Dr. Cullen. He is no longer kissing his beloved but staring sadly at my attire and quivering body_. What he must think of me compared to Esme_.

"H-Have you fed?" I hear him ask, and quite surprised from his queer stammer. Something I've never imagined him doing.

I don't answer verbally, still too consumed with everything bombarding me. But I nod in acquiesce.

"No, Carlisle!" Esme sobs again. I can't understand her overwhelming reaction to my having fed. Isn't her consuming of animals also her source of nourishment: Dr. Cullen said they fed off animals and not humans. "It is our fault. We should have been there . . ." Esme becomes bundled in the doctor's arms again as he tries to quiet her fears, something I cannot understand. _What is their 'fault'?_

"It isn't what you think, Esme."

Startled, I look from the broken couple and toward the direction of the voice. _But oh_, am I careful not to look at the direct source.

Dr. Cullen pulls slightly away from his beloved to look to his, what I can only assume is his other creation – like me, like Esme.

"What is your meaning?" A question I would like answered, but cannot voice. This entire situation is driving me spare. My need to run is mounting again.

"She hasn't drunk from a human. Animal blood is all she's consumed." he reassures Dr. Cullen. And sadly, I hear a tone of surprise in his voice, as if he expected me to do otherwise.

Something terribly foreign starts to crawl just under my skin, as if tiny shocks of electricity are flowing in my veins. My shaking intensifies, and no matter how much I try, I cannot dispel either feeling.

The dirtiness I thought gone (momentarily) is quickly returning. It's as if it is slithering under my very flesh, overtaking every part of my hardened body_. I thought vampires impervious. Lies_ . . .

I can't help but think of the unfairness of the situation. Without permission or regard to my privacy, _he_ told Dr. Cullen something from inside my mind. _Without my consent_ . . .

Terrible flashes of my previous assault start to overtake my mind. Venom comes stingingly unbidden to my eyes. Life – even this bleak existence – seems wholly unfair. Like Esme, my knees cannot sustain my extreme grief. It almost feels as if it is happening again.

And though Edward hadn't meant to cause this reaction in me, it doesn't stop the onslaught.

Pathetically I pull my legs into my chest and gently rock myself. I bury my face between my knees while painfully willing these most terrible images from my mind.

I somehow hear a most pitiful groaning near me – as if someone is sharing my pain, but I cannot focus on it – my sorrow seems so very blinding, very insular.

" . . . Ro . . . Rosalie . . ."

Slowly, the brutal images start to abate as I fight them. Other things start to come into focus again. No longer am I that fragile girl being terribly battered by her fiancé on a deserted snow-covered street, but this new blood-consuming creature crouched in a fetal position.

Soft calls of my name are infiltrating my mind, pulling me further and further from that most violent of nights.

As if shocked by something touching me, I jump. A smell of old parchment and ink surrounds me – someone I assume to be Dr. Cullen.

"Please," I beg wretchedly. "Don't touch me. Don't touch . . . please." Though the plea is fragile and softly spoken, I know he can hear me. Our hearing surpasses all.

Thankfully his hand retracts as do his footfalls.

"Would you like us to leave, Rosalie? To retreat into the house?" I grab onto his tender-spoken questions with fervor; nodding my head vehemently. I keep my face hidden: both scared of their reaction to my breakdown and to hide my embarrassing reaction of Edward reading my mind. I never meant to fall apart, but the dirtiness I feel and the overwhelming experiences of my past life are beyond daunting. I couldn't have stood against the pressure.

What seems like hours later, I can hear two sets of footprints disappearing, but truly being a few minutes. My perception of time, space and everything else seem terribly off.

And then there are only two.

With the utmost courage I can scrounge up, I finally whisper his name, "Edward." The letter which comprise of his name sound awfully beautifully rolling off my tongue, with the sound of my new tone. It's as if my lips and tongue want to caress every part of his name.

"I cannot leave you alone, Rose," he tenderly returns. "I cannot have you face it alone . . . _again_." The trembling in his voice causes me to feel even greater remorse. He sounds as if he too has also been assaulted.

"B-But I need to," I whisper back, not liking the new bell quality of my voice. "Please, simply leave me be. I promise not to run off again." It is the most I can give to him. The most I can concede at the moment.

I may not have his ability to read minds, but it doesn't preclude me from hearing the warring of his mind. His feet shift uncertainly on the hard ground as his clothes rustle loudly in my sensitive ears.

"Rose," he pleads apprehensively, but I have nothing left to give him.

He feels most reluctant to leave me again – lest I run off. He feels most reluctant to leave again – lest I fall to pieces. But regardless of it being now, tomorrow or the end of the week, it is bound to happen again.

Everything is too fresh, too new for me to even try and rationalize my past, that fiend's actions against my person and my life after. Everything is simply too new.

"Just leave," I ask, defeated. I can only assume it is my dejectedness (more than anything) which finally convinces him to leave. "_Please_!"

With great disinclination (the air is practically tinged with it), I hear him finally start to go. I still cannot find the will or strength to look at him.

His sweet smell starts to subside and I can hardly hear his footfalls. But I do hear the faintest words embrace me, "I never meant to trespass on your thoughts, love. Never would I want to violate you in any way. _Never_, Rosalie."

Silence.

It is both welcomed and scary. I can hear the ghosts of my attack creeping on me . . . I can hear the heartbeat of the deer I slaughtered . . . I can hear faint new heartbeats in the trees beyond the property in the forest . . . I can hear Esme and Dr. Cullen conversing softly. . . I can hear the new despair of my desolate mind.

_A few weeks_, I comfort myself. _A few weeks and all will be calm again_ . . . _All will be well_.

_Freedom . . . clouds . . . silence_. _Yes_, I think happily (for a time) . . . _freedom . . . silence_.

I continue to rock myself comfortingly, my face still buried between my knees.

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Author's Notes: At long last, I finally post a chapter. I know, very terrible of me, and if you like to know the LONG story behind the reason, just ask (*wink*). Anyhow, hope everyone is well.

Thanks for the reviews! And Happy Halloween, everyone. Don't forget to eat too much candy. I know I will. :)

_Updated: Thursday, 31 October 2013 _


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